Believe in Me
by In the House
Summary: A strange little story of feelings and mistrust of feelings. Inspired by the song. Based off Season 6 to date.
1. Chapter 1

A strange little short story based off no particular episode, just all of S6.

It is not a one shot. It isn't long, though. Please be nice.

House and company are not mine, etc., etc., and so forth.

I don't know if the dates work; if not pretend they do. I know the song is older, but it could have been played as an old classic at a concert in their college days. Shoot, people still play it now sometimes. At least I've heard it on the radio, thus the root for this story. Also, I don't have an Ipod, so forgive any Ipod technical errors.

***

House sat on the floor in his office, his blue eyes focused far into the distance. The music through his Ipod buds was a river, carrying him along in its current, but like most things involving House, it was a contrary river, flowing backwards. It led him not to the future but to the past, as much as he tried to fight it and move forward. He felt lately sometimes that he was swimming against the current, struggling to make any sort of progress, fighting on alone, while the people around him seemed oblivious, floating easily on boats, defying the current that was such an obstacle for him alone. They laughed and talked among themselves, sharing picnic lunches, enjoying an afternoon out on the water, never looking down or noticing the man trying so hard to catch a firm hold on a boat or a dock somewhere. No hand extended to help him out of the water.

Well, okay, one hand. Sort of, sometimes. Wilson tried at least sometimes in his blundering, psychoanalyzing, Wilsonian way, and while part of it annoyed House, part of him was grateful. His words prior to the surgery had been true. Without Wilson, he would be totally alone right now.

Because she wasn't there anymore. The problem wasn't even Lucas, really. House knew that Cuddy would eventually see how shallow Lucas was, would eventually get bored with his facade of dependability and good ol' boyness. No, Cuddy needed someone to challenge her, to push her. She thrived on the challenges. Lucas would eventually wear off.

House wished he could say the problem was Lucas, but he sensed that it ran much deeper. She simply could not get over his psychotic break, get over the balcony declaration and the scene later in her office. She had given up on him. Even their working relationship was so stiff these days, so awkward, and any time he tried to recapture it, even merely the give-and-take of working with her, she either went distant and cold, or she lashed out with a fierceness that was totally not Cuddy. She had always stood beside him, even if not romantically. After Mayfield, their friendship was broken, and all of his efforts to fix it had failed so far.

Yes, she had given up on him. He probably deserved it, but he wished that they could have a real conversation, that she would accept him. That they could be friends again. That the whole last year, scratch that, the whole last two years, had never happened. Rewind past Mayfield, rewind past Kutner, rewind past Amber.

Rewind to Vicodin?

No. He closed his eyes as the song played on loop on his Ipod. Losing touch with reality had scared him like nothing else in his life. He knew that he wouldn't go back to Vicodin.

But there were a rare few parts of his past, like diamonds glittering in mud, that he desperately wanted to go back to.

"House."

It took several repetitions before the fact that he was being called registered over the music in his ears and the rushing river of regret in his head. He blinked, focusing, and suddenly realized that Cuddy was standing in front of him, staring down at the corner behind his desk where he was on the floor. He straightened up abruptly, too abruptly, and his leg yelped. He couldn't resist one quick rub at it before he heaved himself to his feet, using the desk as an aid. "New case?" he said, nodding toward the file in her hands. Of course it was. She never discussed anything else with him these days, her interactions as limited as possible.

The Ipod was still playing, and her words tangled with it. She saw it and stepped forward suddenly, jerking the buds out of his ears in frustration. "Yes, new case. Your team is already in her room."

She expected some semblance of resistance, but he meekly took the file and limped out. She turned to stare after him, puzzled. When she had first walked in and found him on the floor, lost in thoughts, lost in music, she had stood there in the doorway for a few minutes, just watching him, noting the droop of his shoulders, noting what she would have sworn was a glistening film of tears across the blue eyes, although if so, House was forbidding them to fall. He had looked so sad, so regretful, and part of it touched her, even while she tried to maintain the distance.

The Ipod was still in her hands from when she ripped it out of his ears, and she could hear the tinny sound of the song playing, the tune almost familiar but too distant. She gave one quick look around, not wanting to be caught in curiosity, then plugged in the earbuds just as the song hit the end and started again.

_If I could ever say it right,_

_And reach your hostage heart despite _

_The doubts you harbor, then you might_

_Come to believe in me. _

Cuddy blinked, abruptly swept back decades. Boy was THAT an oldie. She remembered going to a concert with House in college, hearing Dan Fogelberg. She could still recall him perched on the stool on stage, embracing his guitar like a well-known lover, singing his gentle love songs and ballads. A glisten of tears sprang up in her own eyes. How she wished she could rewind at times, back to the days when life had seemed simpler.

_The life I lead is not the kind_

_That gives a woman peace of mind._

_I only hope someday you'll find_

_That you can believe in me._

One tear spilled over as she suddenly recalled him joining her in the car recently that afternoon, him assuring her that he did believe in her, that he knew she would deal with the hospital crises, that he knew that she _could_ deal with them. That was precisely what she had needed at that moment - one person to believe in her, without qualifications. Even if expressed in a Housian way, he had given her that gift. How she missed the friendship they used to have, but she knew it was too dangerous now. She had moved on. He would interpret anything as hope, and she didn't want to give him hope. She was with Lucas now.

Cuddy sighed suddenly. She was with Lucas now. Yet on that awful day, it wasn't Lucas who had propped up her leaning soul. Lucas had been there, had even helped her trap the pharmacy tech, but it was House who had supported her. What an odd thought. House supportive. She sighed again. In his own way, he had always been a good friend. She missed him.

_Too many hearts have been broken_

_Failing to trust what they feel. _

_Trust isn't something that's spoken, _

_And love's never wrong when it's real._

She shook her head, trying to shake off the song. She knew what she felt, and she wasn't mistrusting it. What she felt was gratitude for finding someone as steady and reliable and considerate as Lucas, even though he could be annoying at times, like when he "accidentally" took the sitter's phone.

House never hid the fact when he tried to play with her. Lucas' fake obliviousness could get annoying at times.

And why was she thinking about this anyway. She needed to get back to work, not stand here listening to House's Ipod. What if someone walked by and saw her? What sort of image for the Dean was this? She couldn't resist a quick glance at the Ipod, though, wondering if any of the other songs she remembered from long ago were on it. She froze, staring at the screen. The current selection set on loop was not titled "Believe in Me" but rather "Please Believe in Me," an additional word inserted by House at the beginning. Obviously a private message, but she had no doubt to whom he had mentally addressed that plea.

Please. She couldn't remember him ever saying it nonsarcastically. Please. Please believe in me.

A few more tears spilled over now as the song wound on.

_If I could only do one thing, _

_Then I would try to write and sing,_

_A song that ends your questioning, _

_And makes you believe in me. _

_You can believe in me._

How she wished she could. She heard the thought slip out before she could catch it, and her shoulders stiffened immediately. She did believe in him, of course, as a doctor. But as far as a relationship between the two of them, it was over. She was with Lucas. She was happy. She DID trust what she felt, damn it. "I'm sorry, House," she said softly, saying to the empty office what she could never have said to him. She ripped the Ipod buds out of her ears and put it down on the desk.

As she walked out, it seemed that she could still hear the tinny sound from the earbuds behind her, impossibly loud in the empty room. She had forgotten to stop the music, but right then, a group of employees came down the hall and noted her. She forced herself to close her ears and walk on.

Dan Fogelberg continued singing, unaware that both members of his audience had left.

_You can believe in me._


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews, folks. And yes, this one starts out quite sad. It improves toward the end, but there is a lot of angst in it, justified, I think. House has to feel so alone; I want to smack Cuddy, Wilson, et. al watching these episodes. At least we have fanfiction to try to change this. This is an odd little story, unlike any of my others. I wasn't even sure I liked the idea at first (you'll understand more why this chapter and next), but it demanded to be written. It grows on you.

***

She woke up alone again.

Cuddy sighed as she fumbled for the alarm clock. The bed beside her was cold and empty. Lucas' stakeout must have run longer than expected again. She understood; it was his job after all. Her own interfered often enough, and Lucas was always understanding.

Still, waking up to an empty bed most mornings was hard. Today it seemed harder than usual. She could not get the song, and House's retitling of the song, out of her head, and it had played on a continuous loop through her dreams last night.

Please believe in me.

If there had been any possible way for him to have set that up as a guilt trip or a stunt for her benefit, she would have thought he was just playing with her feelings, jerking her around as usual, trying to score emotional points on people. But try as she might, she could not get past the fact that the song was a _private_ message. He had never meant for her to see that. He wasn't just being manipulative.

For so many years, she had wanted to believe in him. She shuddered thinking of that day last spring, when she had realized just how not okay he was. She had been terrified for him, terrified as he clearly was himself that he would never recover, would lose his mind, would lose _himself._ She had dealt with the crisis, taking him up to Wilson, and then had totally broken down in the bathroom, shaking with fear, not for herself, not for her hospital, but for _him._ That was why she hadn't gone on the drive to Mayfield, not just the wedding, but fear that she would not be able to stay calm and stay supportive. Losing control in a crisis was one of Cuddy's own fears, and the crisis that day had been far worse than anything she had ever faced in her administrative duties. She knew that she could not deal with it. So she had stayed behind and gone to the wedding and tried to act normal, but the fear underlay everything. She could lose him. He might never be the same. House was suddenly vulnerable, even more so than he had been after the DBS. She had sat by his bed and prayed then, but she could not sit by him in the car to Mayfield and fall apart herself as he was lost in delusions. She could not be supportive as he needed then. He was in his own hell; he didn't need to witness her purgatory.

It was that fear for him, for them, that things never would and never could be the same again that made her retreat. It wasn't the memory of the balcony proclamation. She had forgiven him immediately for his statements once she realized how truly ill he had been. But she could not forgive herself for failing to see his state the night before when he came to her office. She could not forgive herself for falling apart that afternoon. She had finally seen an aspect of House that she simply could not deal with, because it left neither of them in control. No give and take, no game, just pure helplessness. And so, even while hoping he would recover, even while preserving his job, she had backed away from the idea of a relationship. If it hadn't worked before, it had no chance at all now.

Had she backed away too far? Was she so determined to shut down anything possibly romantic that she wasn't even being a friend?

_Please believe in me._

She realized her thoughts abruptly, lassoed them, and pulled them back. She was in a committed relationship now. She was happy. Maybe she hadn't been as much of a friend, and she would try to work harder on that, but she also could not give him false hope. She was with Lucas now.

Even when she woke up alone.

With a sigh, Cuddy got up to face the day, trying to center herself through yoga, trying to find balance. It was harder than usual this morning.

Lucas arrived just after the nanny. "Morning," he said, capturing her, pushing up against her. The nanny, used to this, did her best to ignore it and worked on feeding Rachel breakfast.

Cuddy pushed him away. "Not now, Lucas."

A carefully calculated amount of hurt and confusion swept through his eyes. "What's wrong? Not feeling well this morning?"

"I'm just in a hurry. I haven't got time for this right now; I need to get to the hospital. I'll see you tonight, okay?" She pulled away and started to gather her purse. Behind them, the nanny started surreptitiously listening in. This was unusual. Every morning, typically, those two went at it like rabbits, although Lucas always had to talk her into it. Was she actually drawing a line and refusing for once? The nanny didn't really like Lucas, although she couldn't quite define it. Something just seemed off about him, and while of course she did not say so, she often wondered what Dr. Cuddy saw in him.

Lucas' thoughts were running at lightning speed behind his eyes, but no one would have known from his face. "Are you okay, Lisa?" He put just the right amount of concern in his voice, and he saw her respond slightly. "Did you sleep all right?"

"I . . . not really. I was having strange dreams. I'm fine, Lucas. I'll see you later on, okay?"

Lucas backed off. "Okay. That's fine. I'll see you later then. Have a good day and don't work too hard."

She smiled at him. He was so considerate and understanding. "Thanks. I'll see you tonight." She came in for a kiss, and he was careful to let her set the pace, even though it didn't go as far as he would have liked. Don't push. She was best manipulated by letting her think she was in control.

Cuddy left for the day, and Lucas headed back to the bedroom, lying down to think this through. He recognized that expression in her eyes, and it spelled one thing to him: House. She had been fine yesterday morning. He hadn't been here last night when she got home. Something must have happened at the hospital yesterday to reawaken her mixed feelings toward House. Lucas set his alarm clock for a 3-hour nap, resolving to pay a visit to the loft later on that day, once it was reliably unoccupied. He thought he had gotten his message across, but House had clearly stirred up an ember yesterday in the dying fire of her feelings for him. Lucas didn't know and didn't care what exactly he'd done. The fact that he had done something was enough. Time for another message to be delivered, a message that, for all its imaginative variety of delivery, could be summed up quite simply.

_I have her, and you never will._

Smiling to himself, Lucas fell quickly into pleasant dreams.

***

The loft was silent and empty, the echo of Lucas' soft footsteps resonating in the mostly unfurnished rooms. The restoration from the water damage was complete, but the furniture still wasn't all restored or replaced. It felt empty, soulless. Lucas smiled again to himself. Let House and Wilson have the loft; he had Cuddy. He knew he had won. House clearly just needed a fresh reminder of that.

Lucas considered the bathroom, but he hated repeating himself. Between the possum and the rail, he'd pretty much exhausted the possibilities in the bathroom. Instead, he headed for House's bedroom. He considered trapping the drawers in the dresser to fall out somehow, hopefully with enough force for a few bruises, but as he pulled them out to study the mechanism, his eye was caught by a manila envelope on the floor underneath the bottom drawer. Something private, something House had deeply hidden. Lucas opened it.

It took a while for him to realize what he was reading on the loose sheets of paper, and when he did put it together, he felt a surge of pure exhilaration. Therapy notes. These were therapy notes, some sort of assignment from the shrink. Lucas quickly left the loft, heading for the nearest copy shop.

This was going to be far, _far_ better than sprinklers or the rail. This was going to go back to the look on House's face that day at the conference that Lucas had made it clear that Cuddy had shared all his secrets. Lucas could never forget that expression, replayed it often in his head. He had another opportunity now to send an unmistakable message of how much Cuddy had moved on from her crush on the former mental patient and addict.

Yes, this was going to be fun. Lucas smiled to himself again, and the clerk at the copy shop thought that it was nice to have a customer who looked so pleasant and in such a good mood.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This is a note to anybody wanting to nitpick this chapter. Come back to read the note after the chapter if you don't want minor spoilers for this chapter. If you aren't an obsessive nitpicker, thanks and just skip on to the chapter. Okay, here's the A/N: I am assuming that the public statement to the hospital in general and the board left out certain details about House's illness. Obviously, Wilson and Cuddy know (nearly) everything, and the team knows more than the general employees, but I cannot imagine that everybody at PPTH has the full story. And yes, obviously this memo has holes in it regarding confidentiality procedures for anybody medical who takes a minute to think straight. I don't think House would have immediately taken a minute to think straight. Not right as he was blindsided with this. Wait out the next few chapters before you rip me for implausibility. It's purely the emotional impact Lucas was after, gambling that it would supercede clear thought long enough for the damage to be done, at which point House's pride wouldn't let him recant. The note wasn't supposed to be a permanent deception, just to achieve an immediate knee-jerk reaction. Also, if you don't think House would have shared this stuff, keep in mind that first, it was clearly not totally voluntary, and second, he's been in therapy with Nolan for months now (I'm assuming he continued, although the show dropped it after Epic Fail), and he and Nolan did have a remarkably good and open therapeutic relationship by the end of what we were shown. It would be even stronger after more months of sessions. Okay, on to the chapter.

***

Lucas sat at Cuddy's desk, knowing that she had an afternoon conference right now. Not that he'd had any particular reason for checking her upcoming schedule the last time he was in the office, since he'd only found out about House's apparent persistence this morning, but he always made it a point to check her schedule any time he had a chance. You never knew when it might become . . . useful. As it had today.

He had spent a while in the car going through his copies of the notes after returning the envelope to its hiding place. Unquestionably, they were assignments, even with occasional Housian editorial comments about their pointlessness. Most sheets had headings such as "people I've hurt," "things I regret," or similar. One page, interestingly, was completely blank other than the heading. That page was "how I feel about my childhood." Lucas automatically filed that for possible future use if it ever became relevant.

Cuddy's name occurred easily more often than any other, and Lucas felt a wave of jealousy breaking over him again. He stomped it back down. He had won, after all. He had no reason to be jealous.

Finally, he had made his selection, from a page titled, "Memories of Vicodin." It made extremely interesting reading and would be even more interesting with certain parts edited out, the parts of regret, the parts of determination, such as the last sentences, "But none of it was real. I was still miserable, and I was still alone. Like a lot of people, it lies." Nolan had made a note to one side on that page, underlining that sentence and saying, "Exactly. You're making a lot of progress in your insights. Good job, Greg." That alone was proof that House had been forced to share these, although Lucas hadn't doubted it. He couldn't imagine House actually writing this stuff down unless some accountability was required. He would have filled the sheets with tic-tac-toe or some obscene doodles unless the content had been checked. Which made the blank page even more interesting. Was that the latest, unfinished assignment?

With his plan complete, Lucas had come to Cuddy's unoccupied office and politely asked to wait for her, apologizing for bothering anyone else's day and not wanting to be in the way out in the clinic. Nothing about that was unusual. Once inside, he went around her desk, studiously admired the picture of Rachel she had there, and then hacked into her computer while keeping a careful eye on the glass doors. Anytime anyone looked up, his hands immediately stilled, and he was looking at Rachel. He was a master at this stuff, and nobody ever really noticed him or questioned his intentions.

He read over the email memo a final time and nodded, approving. It was perfect.

_To: All Board Members; copy to Gregory House, MD._

_From: Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine_

_Re: Gregory House, MD._

_As you all know, Dr. House took an extended leave of absence last year to deal with some addiction issues. Due to recent concerns which have come to my attention, I regretfully must share additional details with the Board. It goes without saying that this knowledge should of course go no further. Dr. House actually had a complete psychotic break, including delusions and hallucinations, as a consequence of his years of addiction. His delusions even extended so far as to believing himself to be in a relationship with me and even believing that I returned his feelings, thus his actions in the lobby last spring right before he went away, which actions I had originally covered up as just one of his usual jokes. His absence was not just for rehab but for far more extensive psychiatric issues. He wanted to leave the psychiatric hospital earlier than he did but was deemed by his psychiatrist not to be safe practicing medicine until far more extensive and inpatient treatment. _

_As you all will understand, this was a cause for extreme concern on his return to his duties at PPTH. Not only the immediate availability of drugs but also the responsibilities he would assume with patient care required certain safeguards to be set in place to be certain that he remained psychiatrically stable and not using Vicodin any longer. One of those safeguards was the sharing of therapeutic notes by his psychiatrist which his psychiatrist thought to be disturbing and possibly impacting his ability to perform his duties at PPTH. _

_A recent note by Dr. House has been brought to my attention. In his own exact words, it reads, "I could still work on the Vicodin just fine. I worked on it for years. What it did was take away the pain; I truly don't believe it affected my work until the end. I still think about it. The numbness, the release. It made everything better. It was what I lived for." _

_Given this statement, Dr. Nolan has concerns about Dr. House's continuing struggles with sobriety and felt that I should be informed. Therefore, in the interests of PPTH and our patients, I recommend that Dr. House have secondary administrative signoff required on all prescriptions by him, that he be required to submit to an increased number of random drug tests, and that any narcotic medications required by his patients be prescribed and delivered personally by me, with Dr. House having no possible contact with the narcotics at any point. All pharmacy staff will also be apprised of these policies assuming they are voted into action. We all appreciate Dr. House's contribution to our hospital, but we should never forget the fact that he is a former addict who according to his own psychiatrist still has intense current struggles maintaining sobriety. I fear possible legal consequences for the hospital should any question ever come up on a future case and us not have some safeguards and oversight in place given his history. I have myself had recent concerns about his psychiatric stability and his sobriety, and this message from his psychiatrist only emphasizes the need to put more extensive safeguards in place. _

_We will discuss this on the agenda on Friday's board meeting, to which Dr. House is also invited. Dr. House is, of course, welcome to make any statements on his own behalf that he wishes to at that time. _

_Lisa Cuddy, MD_

_Dean of Medicine_

Lucas read it over and smiled. Of course, he wasn't actually sending this to the Board. He knew that it far crossed the medical confidentiality line, and he had no wish to get Cuddy fired. But it _looked_ like he was sending it to the board, and he was counting on House being so blindsided that he didn't take time to think it through clearly.

House would never submit to this. No, House would stalk out and quit in a rage, probably with a public scene, and when he later started thinking about the content of that note and questioning it, when he eventually realized he'd been tricked yet again by Lucas, his pride would never let him return. House would leave with his soul ragged and bleeding from the wounds of this memo, convinced that the woman he still dared to have feelings for had betrayed his trust even further. Lucas was even throwing in doubts with his psychiatrist as a bonus; he had always admired his ability to multitask while manipulating people. Nolan would have a few fun sessions trying to undo this one, assuming House even gave him a chance. More likely, House would end up in some distant city, probably eventually back on Vicodin.

Lucas had not only won; with this master stroke, he had swept the board free of the opposition. Cuddy would remain here, with no blue-eyed genius as a distraction. It was perfect.

He hit send to get the email to House, then carefully cleared both Cuddy's sent folder and her deleted items. There was no trace. She would have no clue why House was outraged, and his anger would set off her own sense of it being unjustified. Those two on completely different channels and feeding off each other should be fun. Lucas would have liked to be around to watch, but that might be too suspicious, with House and Wilson both knowing he was responsible for the prank war. No, he'd just find an opportunity to hack into the security tapes later.

He closed down the computer back to Cuddy's screensaver, glanced at his watch for a check on her schedule, and was sitting behind her desk admiring Rachel when she walked in. "Hi," he said, standing up to kiss her. "Just wanted to come by and check on you. You seemed a little stressed this morning."

She had automatically started that "touching maternal scene" smile on finding him staring adoringly at the picture of her daughter. "Oh, that's so thoughtful, Lucas. Thank you. I had a hectic morning scheduled, but things are better this afternoon."

He pulled her over against him. "I need to go out for a bit on the job, but I won't be home late tonight. You can tell me all about your day then."

When they reluctantly split apart, Cuddy answered him. "I will, Lucas. Thanks for understanding about this morning."

"No problem. Catch you later." He exited the office, and her eyes followed him. He was so considerate at times. See, that was exactly what House wasn't.

And she was still thinking of House as the automatic comparison. She firmly collected her wandering thoughts and started going through the latest budget requests.

***

House and Wilson were returning from a late lunch, and the oncologist followed House into his office. "Where's the team?" he asked.

House shrugged. "Not here. Which probably means they're either with the patient or in the lab, which probably means they're still running the tests I asked for. No page, no firm results and no crisis." He picked up his ball and tossed it from hand to hand.

"What about bowling tonight?" Wilson asked.

"Sounds good. Assuming there's still no patient crisis. Or I think there was a good movie; maybe I could talk Nora into going to that instead." He said it merely to rile Wilson; his heart wasn't in it. House leaned forward to bump his computer screen to life and check listings, automatically starting his email program along with the browser, and he smiled slightly as his speakers stated clearly, "Get lost."

"Get lost?" Wilson quirked an eyebrow. "Are you training your computer to kick people out so you won't have to?"

"Nope. That's my new email message received tone. I got tired of a plain old beep, and you've got mail is too boring. Why should my answering machine be the sole beneficiary of my imagination?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that makes sense. They can't hear it when they email you, House."

"But I can. Just makes pointless messages a bit less annoying to have the computer tell them off before I can." He flipped over to the email and immediately selected the one from Cuddy. He always read hers first.

Wilson was waxing eloquent. "I can see it now. The Gregory House version of the universe. Imagine the vocabulary possibilities of phones, elevators, microwaves, and all those other electronic .. . . are you okay?"

House had frozen in his chair, his eyes widening into an expression that Wilson had seen only once, in his office a year ago. It was the expression of a man whose world had just crumbled around him, leaving him powerless. Wilson came around the desk to reach for his shoulder. "House? House!" The blue eyes were locked on the screen. Wilson shook his shoulder harder. "HOUSE!" Slowly, the eyes came to meet his, looking stunned. "What is it? Are you okay?"

House abruptly lurched to his feet, not even replying, and hit the door at his fastest limp. Wilson hurried after him, then stopped in the doorway of the office, his agitated hands debating his next move. Questioning House when he was totally shut down was an exercise in futility. Wilson was scared, definitely needed to talk to his friend, but he decided to arm himself quickly with a better understanding of what was going on. He knew House's usual haunts; he wouldn't be too hard to catch up with, but Wilson needed details to best help his friend deal with whatever the new crisis was.

It had to be the email. House had been perfectly fine before that - okay, not perfectly fine, but his slightly wistful version of making it lately. Wilson quickly went back around the desk to read the message House had been reading.

He read it once. He read it twice. He printed it off and yanked the sheet from the printer with such violence that he wrinkled the page. He did take one brief second to close down the email program, trying to preserve the last remnants of shredded pride and privacy, before he erupted into the hallway at a dead run, nearly running over a nurse, not even noticing. He sprinted for the stairs.

He'd catch up with House in a few minutes for whatever inadequate damage control could be done, but first, he was going to kill Cuddy.


	4. Chapter 4

Cuddy was at her desk frowning at a budget request from the thoracic surgery department when her office door slammed open so abruptly that she heard the glass rattle in protest. "What is it now, House?" she asked, not looking up. Who else burst into her office without knocking?

"What is it NOW? Have you gone completely insane?" Not House. Wilson. Cuddy looked up, surprised at his tempestuous entrance, even more shocked when she encountered a look of pure fury that she wouldn't have believed the oncologist could produce. Wilson was breathing heavily, face flushed, one hand clenched at his side as if resisting the urge to hit her, the other clutching a slightly crumpled piece of paper. The blazing brown eyes burned clear through her and into the back of her chair.

Cuddy found her voice after a second. "Is something wrong?"

Wilson opened his mouth and shut it a few times, as if he had forgotten how to speak. She could see now that he was actually trembling slightly. In an odd echo of that day last spring, she rephrased her question, concern starting to overcome surprise. "Are you okay?"

House had retreated that unforgettable day, had staggered back away from his hallucinations, but Cuddy's words this time had the opposite effect on Wilson. He surged forward. The words burst out like a flooding river smashing through a dam. "Am I OKAY? How can you POSSIBLY sit there in that chair like everything's NORMAL, like this is just a BUSINESS DECISION? You KNOW it's personal, Cuddy. YOU know it, I know it, even the janitors and the nurses would know it. It isn't enough that you LIED to him, that you NEVER went to see him, that you can't even be a FRIEND to him anymore, but now you betray his privacy AGAIN!!!! This is even worse than at the conference!! And what the HELL was Nolan thinking? Well, congratulate yourself, Cuddy, because you won. You finally got rid of House. I'm sure as soon as he's capable of speaking, he''ll be down here to quit - or maybe he'll quit by text or email. That would be appropriate. You've not only DESTROYED his job, you and Nolan between you have just destroyed his therapy. He was trying SO hard, and you couldn't even see it because of your stupid, teenage, lovesick revenge on him, making sure to rub his nose in how much you'd moved on. I'm glad he's quitting; you don't DESERVE him. In fact, I quit, too. I'll go with him. You can have your hospital, you can have your Lucas, you can even have your damn LOFT. But HOW can you POSSIBLY ask ME right now what is wrong?" Wilson stopped for oxygen, his breaths coming in irregular, jagged gasps. His whole body was shaking with the effort not to hit her.

Cuddy stared at him. Now her mouth opened and closed a few times, giving her a momentary resemblance to a fish. Wilson caught his breath. "Don't you have ANYTHING to say? Or did you already say it all? Surely there's ONE more jab saved up for House. Give it to me instead; I'm here, for as little longer as I can help it."

Cuddy finally found her voice. "Wilson, I have absolutely NO idea what you're talking about."

As a defense, it was at least one he hadn't expected. "Surely you didn't ALREADY forget the email? Did ripping up his professional pride, the one thing you'd left intact to this point, mean that little to you?"

She was beginning to wonder if she'd fallen down the rabbit hole at some point today and entered a crazy alternate world. "WHAT email?"

He slammed it down on her desk. "THAT email. Direct from you; don't try to deny it."

She pulled it over and read it. Her face froze, her eyes widened, and she suddenly literally felt sick. "Wilson, I swear I didn't send this. My God, where is he?"

For the first time, Wilson paused in his march toward justified Cuddycide. "You didn't send it?"

"No. NO!! I swear, I would never . . . where IS he?"

Confusion was starting to wrestle with fury in the brown eyes. "He ran away. Probably wanted to be alone somewhere until he thought he could face you long enough to quit. I was going to go find him after I quit myself." He walked around her desk, reaching for her keyboard, and she sat back, allowing him full access. "It's from your email address. From you, to the complete Board and to House."

She studied the subject line on the printed page. From her, yes, but . . . "This isn't actually sent to the Board. The memo heading says it is, but the email address is just his." But she couldn't deny that it was from her. How on earth . . .

Wilson had pulled up her email program and flipped to her sent folder. It was totally empty, and Cuddy reached over now, taking over the keyboard, switching to her deleted items folder. It, too, was empty. "I don't understand. I sent off several emails this morning. I usually file things, delete the rest, and empty the deleted folder at the end of each day; it shouldn't be empty now."

"Who else has had access to your computer today?" Wilson's eyes widened. "Lucas."

"Lucas? Don't be ridiculous."

Anger flared back up. "Cuddy, if ANYBODY is being ridiculous, it's you. READ that thing. Whoever wrote that has an intimate knowledge of House's psychiatric problems, one on a level that I'd say is only shared by the two of us and his psychiatrist - and your boyfriend, to whom you told everything, and who already used it deliberately to hurt House at the conference."

She shook her head. "Okay, I shouldn't have shared as much as I did, but Lucas wasn't trying to hurt House that day. He's just a little socially clueless at times."

Wilson ground his teeth together in frustration. "Cuddy, he is NOT socially clueless. He is a lying, deceptive, manipulative, arrogant bastard who is an expert at using people and putting on an innocent front."

"Now, wait a minute. . ."

He pushed on. "There are only four possibilities here, assuming that you believe House didn't send it to himself. You, and you deny it. I certainly didn't. Nolan wouldn't. That leaves Lucas. Was he in your office today? This is date stamped. Look at that time. WAS LUCAS IN YOUR OFFICE?"

She stared at it, then closed her eyes. "Oh God. He was waiting for me, he said. Just to check on me, because I didn't want to . . . well, we didn't follow usual morning routine today."

"Waiting for you, as in he knew you'd be gone right then for a while?"

"How could he possibly . . ."

"WHERE were you gone to? Was it a meeting, something clearly listed on your schedule?"

She nodded. Now she really did feel sick. "It was a conference. But how would Lucas have gotten my schedule?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he made a point of checking it whenever he could, just in case he needed it. Cuddy, Lucas was responsible for all those pranks recently. He admitted it, face to face. I was there. Shoot, there are probably witnesses; it was right in the cafeteria. The security camera was there. Look up the tapes yourself sometime. He tripped House, knocked him flat, and then he was absolutely gloating. Said he had demonstrated his superiority and that he had won."

"You mean he loosened the grab bar? But that's assault. House could have been killed."

Wilson nodded. "He carried assault a lot more direct than that that day in the cafeteria, and like I said, that was in public and on camera."

"Why . . . why on earth didn't you say something to me?"

"I wanted to. You don't know how much I wanted to. I wanted to sue the little bastard for the damage to the loft - that's thousands of dollars - not to mention filing charges for assault. Lucas said he'd tell you about us getting the loft, and we'd hold back out of friendship, but I wanted to tell you anyway. But House talked me out of it."

"_House_ talked you out of it?"

"Right. He said that you'd made your choice. He really was trying to respect that, in his own way. Not perfectly, granted, but he never did anything to you close to what Lucas has done to him in the last few weeks." Wilson sighed. "You wouldn't have sex with Lucas this morning?" She shook her head, past trying to stand on privacy, finally forced past denial. "Could Lucas have possibly thought you were thinking about House this morning? Assuming that he is quite intelligent and quite observant, would he have had ANY reason to suspect that your feelings for House had been stirred up again this particular morning? Is there any reason he might have decided that another lesson needed to be delivered today?"

Her eyes widened in horror. "Yes. Not that House did anything, but yesterday . . ." Her voice trailed off. _Please believe in me._ In the next second, Cuddy pushed back from her chair and bolted urgently to her private bathroom as the full impact hit her of what Lucas had done, his eerily perfect rebuttal to House's private thoughts, his rebuttal under _her name_. She dropped in front of the toilet, having literally made herself sick. Oh God. She had to find House.

Wilson came in behind her. He was still ticked off at Cuddy for the last few months, but he at least believed now that she had nothing to do with today's message. Unable to resist caring, he ran one hand across her back as she heaved, and then he handed her some paper towels, got a small paper cup, and filled it with water. "Thanks," she mumbled, taking the cup gratefully. It soothed the fire in her throat, but she wondered if anything could soothe the wound in her heart. She leaned back against the wall, afraid to leave the porcelain throne quite yet. "He's just been using me," she said softly, finally believing it. "He knew House and I . . . anyway, he knew House from before, long before we started seeing each other. He knew House liked me. He was so damn sympathetic and listening those early dates when we'd first starting seeing each other, when House was at Mayfield. I swear, I didn't mean to violate House's privacy like that, but Lucas just seemed so considerate and listening, and it felt so GOOD to talk about how I felt and how scared I was with somebody." She shook her head. "But all this time, he's just been . . . counting coup. Scoring off House. He wasn't really interested in me as me at all." She turned back to the toilet abruptly, a fresh wave of bile and shattered illusions coming up.

"I'm sorry," Wilson replied. He didn't deny it, though. Counting coup was _precisely_ what Lucas had been doing, in a psychological as well as physical way.

Cuddy straightened up again, taking the fresh paper towels he offered. "I never saw it. I was so desperate to . . . have a relationship, and I thought I never would. I thought House might never get well, and I'd . . . always be left alone."

"I'm sorry," Wilson repeated.

She straightened up suddenly, a fresh wave of horror in her eyes. "Oh God, House. I've got to find him." She lurched to her feet, flushing the toilet.

Wilson beat her back into the office, heading for the door. "I'll find him. I'll try to explain."

"No!" She grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Wilson, please. I've got to do this. He deserves an explanation - and an apology - from me. I just hope he can forgive me." She wouldn't blame him if he couldn't.

Wilson hesitated, torn between going himself or giving her this chance. Part of him argued that House wouldn't want to listen to Cuddy right now, and another part argued that a real, private conversation, with the illusion of Lucas stripped away, was _exactly _what those two needed. Cuddy saw the war in his eyes. "Please, Wilson. I need to do this. There are . . . some things you don't know, and that Lucas didn't know, that made this an especially hard blow for him today. I need to talk to him."

The oncologist sighed, weighing the sincerity and the brokenness in her eyes. He stepped away from the door. "Go ahead. But I don't think you'll get more than one shot at this, Cuddy. Make it count."

"Do you have any idea where he is?"

"I'd start by seeing if his motorcycle is still here. If not, try his old apartment. If it is, try the coma ward, the morgue, the roof. Try the jogging park next door. Not a bar, I don't think. He'll be somewhere alone." He started for her desk. "And call me after you've talked, okay? If you don't mind, I'll use your phone in the meantime. I'm filing charges on that sonofabitch for assault, multiple counts of assault, in fact, and felony level water damage."

"Add misuse of private company computer equipment and identity theft," she said. She took a deep breath. "Wish me luck."

Wilson looked straight at her. "You don't need luck, Cuddy. You just need to _finally_ be fully honest with yourself - and with him."

She considered that, then nodded. Without another word, she left the office, and Wilson picked up the phone and dialed the police.


	5. Chapter 5

Short second update today. Next chapter is longer.

***

House looked out over Princeton, seeing the bustling afternoon activity, feeling at a great distance the hum of the city, the busy students on the campus like ants below him.

It all went on without him, without even being aware of him. Nobody down there knew he was up on the roof, and nobody would have cared if they had known. He had finally achieved complete abandonment by those closest to him, the thing Wilson had told him a few times he must be trying for. The final votes were tallied, and he really did not matter. He'd always had a suspicion, okay a fear of that, but to see the final election results in black and white was a shock.

Cuddy. He had returned to his office yesterday afternoon after initial assessment of the patient to find his Ipod still playing on his desk. He'd remembered her ripping it out of his ears in annoyance, and he'd hoped, would have prayed if he'd thought it would do any good, that she had simply dropped it on his desk after he left, that she hadn't stopped to listen to the song. She would have remembered that concert back in college. Going had been her idea anyway, although he'd enjoyed it himself. He'd hoped above all that she hadn't read some sort of pathetic personal message into the fact that he had that particular song on loop yesterday afternoon.

But hoping was worthless, as he'd always known it was. Clearly, she had not only listened to the song and read a personal plea from him into it; she had actually directly responded to it. If his message, albeit unintentionally delivered yesterday, had been, "Believe in me," her reply today landed like a hard slap across his face. No, she didn't believe in him. She didn't even believe in him professionally anymore, the one area where he'd thought he still had a touch of her respect.

His memory was his enemy at times, and lines from that email kept replaying, seared into his brain even on his brief, horrified read. _We should never forget the fact that he is a former addict who according to his own psychiatrist still has intense current struggles maintaining sobriety. . . I have myself had recent concerns about his psychiatric stability._ And even worse than that, the harshest stab in a vicious email, was, _His delusions even extended so far as to . . . even believing that I returned his feelings._ She truly felt nothing for him. She denied having felt anything for him in the past. She did not care about him at all, did not trust him in her precious hospital, AND she shared those opinions not only with him but with the entire Board. She didn't even do him the courtesy of discussing her concerns privately. No, she wanted to put him on professional probation because he couldn't even be trusted to prescribe for his patients.

To hell with her, the entire board, and PPTH. As soon as he felt capable of looking unmoved as he walked out through the people who knew him, he would leave. He would leave her, leave PPTH, leave Princeton. To hell with all of them.

And he would leave therapy. Nolan's betrayal struck him even more harshly than Cuddy's. He'd known, after all, that Cuddy had given up on him personally; today's shock was merely that she extended that to professionally and shared it with others. But Nolan truly shocked him. How could the man insist on those therapy notes, insist on House completing the assignments, even _praise _his efforts, and then turn around and send copies to Cuddy? And either Nolan had sent an edited copy of the Vicodin note, removing all regret and all progress, or Cuddy had edited it that way before sending it on to the board. He wasn't sure which option hurt worse.

Even Wilson had dropped the ball. House had regretted his choice of retreat as soon as he'd stopped to think about it after arriving at the roof. Wilson would no doubt be hot on his heels after his abrupt departure, insisting on hovering, insisting on caring, insisting on _talking._ But Wilson had not come as expected, and along with the expected relief came a twinge of hurt. Maybe Wilson had stopped to read the email and concluded for himself that House wasn't worth believing in at all anymore. Maybe Wilson had just gone back to his own office. Maybe the whole team was hovering around his computer right now reading it. House imagined their reactions. Foreman would immediately apply for his position, which Cuddy would no doubt hand over with relief. Taub would be indifferent, maybe eventually quitting again but doing just fine for himself, Thirteen would work under Foreman for one week and quit to go die in Thailand or somewhere in peace, and Chase would return to surgery. Maybe Chase could even get his marriage back together, could call Cameron and state that House had completely failed as they'd all known that he would and was no longer part of the PPTH picture. Cameron would no doubt be delighted and vindicated to hear it. After all, she'd made it quite clear that she didn't believe in him either.

Imagining everyone's reactions, everyone's relief, everyone's lives going on just fine without him was painful, but it at least kept him skirting the edges of the swirling whirlpool in the middle of his thoughts, the whirlpool that threatened to suck him down into fear of the future.

Medicine was all he had had left. With that gone, what could he do? Where could he go? Nobody would put up with him professionally if Cuddy had finally hit the limit. He would have no job, no friends, no place. He knew he wouldn't make it without more therapy, but he also knew he could never open up to anyone in therapy again after Nolan had broken his trust. He would probably eventually wind up back on Vicodin, in some cardboard box with only Amber and maybe Kutner for company, and when he finally died, nobody would notice, and nobody would care.

His father was right. He truly had finally amounted to nothing. He was afraid of the future, afraid of being alone, and was even afraid of ending it all. One jump off this roof, and his problems would be over, but he somehow lacked even the courage for that. He also wondered if anybody would notice if he did jump. His mind conjoured up an image of his broken body on the sidewalk, and traffic merely diverting around it on both sides and going on, people proceding with their day.

Pain stabbed up his leg from standing too long, even though he was leaning on the wall, but he barely felt it against the pain in his heart. He was truly alone, he had nothing left, and he had nowhere to go. All he knew was that he couldn't stay here.

Lost in despair, he didn't even hear the door open behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, okay, I'll give you another chapter today. But you're probably still going to want to kill me. :) Good night, readers.

***

Cuddy was a tornado of equal parts guilt and anxiety that swept through PPTH. Nurses took one look and decided to bring up minor issues or even moderate ones later; PPTH personnel parted like the Red Sea. Everyone knew her "on a mission" stride with the implied "not now unless somebody is dying" subtext. She was trying to hide the storm of emotions behind her brisk, administrative front, oddly not to preserve her privacy this time but House's. The people she asked as routinely as possible all had the same answer, though. Nobody had seen him in the last hour.

Of all the horrible timing. Lucas could not have known precisely what happened yesterday, but he couldn't have possibly picked a worse day or method of message. Cuddy was positive that House would take the email as a direct reply to her accidental discovery of the song yesterday. Even though he hadn't meant to make his request outright, it had been made, and he would have figured that out from his Ipod still playing when he returned. He would see this as her final answer, and Lucas had said even more than he'd intended.

Her stride quickened, and she hurried to the door to the parking garage. A small sigh of relief escaped her when she saw that the motorcycle was still in the handicapped space. Images of him getting killed in traffic through distraction, apathy, or intention vanished, as did images of him in his apartment with Vicodin. She knew Wilson had tried to clean the apartment, but she also knew that House probably had stashes that remained. On the other hand, the most likely reason for him to still be in the hospital was that he genuinely didn't feel safe driving home right now, which kicked off a whole new round of urgency.

She saw him as soon as she opened the door onto the roof. He was standing by the wall, leaning on it, actually being held up by it as if his body lacked the strength to stay upright on its own. The slumped shoulders and the whole defeated posture told their own story, and that was bad enough, but what made her breath catch was the tilt of his head. He was looking down, and in that moment, she suddenly knew that he was thinking about jumping, thinking about it almost as he conducted a differential, seeking the most effective treatment for a problem. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she forced herself to approach quietly, calmly. She could easily stop him physically, given his leg and the climb required over the wall, but she knew that it was his mind she needed to catch hold of and pull back from the edge. It would be quite possible to save his body and still lose House forever in this conversation.

He hadn't turned, hadn't even tensed up slightly at her footsteps. He appeared entirely oblivious of her, lost so deeply in thought as he could get sometimes that her presence simply didn't register at first. She flinched, remembering that the last time she'd seen him in deep thought like that was yesterday on the floor of his office. _Please believe in me._

How could she best prove to him that she did?

"House," she said softly, coming up beside him. He didn't respond, and she watched his eyes, waiting for the slight tightening of focus that would mean he had registered her presence, even if he didn't look at her. She was fully expecting him not to look at her, even after she was noticed, but right now, he was off in his own world. Still, he was definitely looking down at the sidewalks below, almost speculatively. She shuddered and forced her voice to stay steady. "House. House."

He noticed her at the third repetition, and she saw his expression change, although he didn't look at her. Even worse, he turned away from her, simply starting to limp back toward the roof door. She caught up in two strides and passed him, blocking the exit and forcing them to be face to face. He was looking for people as a defense now, not wanting this conversation, but she knew that the privacy was her ally. He could not leave the roof until he had at least heard her out, even if he didn't believe. If he left before then, she would never find another opportunity alone. He'd make sure of that. "House, please, listen a few minutes."

He looked down at his leg and then at her two whole ones, letting her see the comparison, letting her know that he knew she was using his disability against him for the moment. "Did you think up another line? I thought you'd said enough already, but you seem to have me as a captive audience, so go for it." That said, he immediately turned his back to her and returned to the wall, looking out over Princeton.

Cuddy came up beside him, careful not to touch him. He was already feeling physically restrained at the moment. She hated having to use that lever, but she could not let him leave yet. "House," she said urgently, "I did NOT send that email."

"Right. Your computer had it in for me and sent it all on its own." His tone was as biting as she had ever heard it.

"No, my ex-boyfriend had it in for you and sent it under my name." He still didn't look at her, but she saw the small syllable ex register. "Lucas found some time in my office early this afternoon while I was at a conference. He'd apparently known my schedule." She pulled out the crumpled page and smoothed it on the wall. "Look at this, House."

His eyes were fixed on the horizon. "Once was enough, thank you."

"Wilson printed this off and brought it to me. He was absolutely livid." That got a response from him, the strongest one yet, the look of a missing puzzle piece slipping into place. A tiny part of his soul unclenched, but she knew that it wasn't for her. Desperate, she continued. "When it printed, though, it included the email headers, of course. Look at this, House. The memo is addressed to the board along with you, but the email only actually went to you. They didn't see it. Nobody except you, Wilson, and myself has seen this."

"You left out Lucas. You just said he wrote it, or at least contributed."

She sighed. "Look at the time stamp, House. I have nine witnesses to the fact that I was in a conference at that moment. I could probably find at least another nine who saw Lucas arrive and go into my office to wait. I did NOT write it, House. I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

For the first time, a fraction of him started to believe her. She pushed on, trying to pursue her advantage. "And Dr. Nolan has not been sending me your therapy notes. His communications about you have been very professional and at an absolute minimum." Another bit of him relaxed, but it still wasn't toward her. "Lucas was apparently annoyed this morning because I wouldn't have sex with him when he got home. He apparently decided that he needed to fire another shot in the war on you - Wilson told me about the previous incidents. House, I swear, I had no idea. He totally fooled me. He totally _used _me."

His eyes moved over to her for the first time, gauging her sincerity. He himself had no doubt that Lucas was using Cuddy, but for her to admit it was a new step. "He's a professional con artist," he said, oddly offering her some excuse for her blindness. "It goes with his job. That innocent, boyish front is something he's cultivated."

"I realize that - now." She shook her head, still amazed that she hadn't seen it, that it had taken this to open her eyes. "Anyway, Lucas apparently decided this morning to take another strike at you. I have no idea how he got hold of your therapy notes, assuming that really was a direct quote. I've never shared them with him. I've never even _seen_ them."

"Probably he broke into the loft again this morning. They're hidden, but if he was really looking, maybe thinking of booby-trapping the furniture." His eyes met hers directly, for some reason needing her to believe him on this next point. "That was a direct quote, but it was extensively edited. He only took some sentences, the ones that would sound worse, and he left the others out. It _wasn't _an accurate picture of how things stand now."

"House, I know that. You've made a lot of progress since Mayfield, and I'm proud of you for it." She saw him flinch. What on earth could be wrong with acknowledging his effort?

"You never have," he replied, answering her thought. Irritation was clearly underlying his voice now. "All these months I've been back, and you've NEVER once even given me any credit for trying. The first time you mentioned Vicodin when I got back was the day you and Wilson accused me - didn't ask me, but accused me - of taking it again. I wasn't even working for you at that point; I actually asked why you were there. But you just had to come along to confront me. You've never talked about me being off it or recognized the effort, only worried that I'd slip up. You've never asked what else I'm taking, or how that's working out. You haven't asked at all, just accused once in a while."

She closed her eyes momentarily. He was right; even recently with the pharmacy thefts, her immediate thought had been that he stole Vicodin. She was afraid there was going to be no way to sort out with him the issues of today without addressing her issues over the last several months, and while she knew she needed to have that conversation with him, she wasn't sure she was ready, even though she had known it would probably come up. As Wilson had said, she probably just had one shot at this, and it was looking like the one shot would have to cover everything, not just Lucas' note. "I'm sorry, House. I have thought about your rehab and your progress often. My reasons for not saying it were based off of my problems, not yours." She tapped the printed copy of the email. "I absolutely believe you when you say this therapy note was edited. Please believe that this was not my idea. I would NEVER do anything like this. I trust you completely as a doctor."

He reached over abruptly and pulled the page out from under her hand, folding it down on itself over and over, clearly considering just shredding it with his bare hands and throwing it off the roof but then thinking of the possibility of it being found and reassembled. He put it in his pocket instead. "I get it, Cuddy," he replied. "You've finally seen how manipulative Lucas was, which is good. You apparently are breaking up with him; congratulations. You deserve better. And you even trust me as a doctor. You just said so."

Too late, she saw the flip side of her statement. "I didn't mean that I don't trust you otherwise, House."

"Yes, you did." He was looking out over Princeton again. "Over and over, with Lucas but also without Lucas, you have told me since I got back. Not with words but with actions."

Cuddy felt the conversation slipping away from her again. He apparently believed her about the email, but it didn't seem to make much difference to him. "House, I DO believe in you." It was the first time she had used the phrase, and she saw it register.

He turned slowly to face her, and she saw the open doubt in his eyes. "No, you just heard a song yesterday accidentally, and you got trapped in a memory. That was years ago, Cuddy, and today you're feeling nostalgic and guilty. But now, here in Princeton, this past year, you've stopped believing in me, even as a friend, and don't tell me it was all about Lucas. It's deeper than that. And I can't take it anymore. I can't work with you like this. I can't see you every day when you're locked down against me on all levels." He turned back to look at the sky. Sunset was beginning to paint the western edges, a day too long slowly beginning to die around them. "I'm going to leave Princeton. I quit."


	7. Chapter 7

Big chapter ahead. Thanks for reading.

***

Cuddy stood on the roof, acutely aware of the sheer drop below them, as much psychologically as physically at this point. Her tongue had frozen in her mouth, leaving her momentarily incapable of speech. She couldn't imagine PPTH without House. She couldn't imagine _herself _without House. The full impact of how blind she had been the last several months, how much she had deceived herself, hit her. He wasn't even leaving because of romantic possibilities or lack thereof. He truly believed that she no longer valued him even as a friend.

And honestly, was he far wrong? Her anger had diverted by this point from Lucas to herself. She was appalled at what she had done.

House read her silence as implied acceptance and recognition of the end of the conversation. Whatever they'd had had been dead for the last year, clearly. If they had finally managed to attend the funeral of it, finally buried the corpse that had been all that was left between them, hopefully the grieving and recovery could start now. Maybe he at least still had a professional reference and the sessions with Nolan, which was more than he'd thought he had a few minutes ago. And Wilson still was his friend, hadn't abandoned ship after all. He tried to tell himself it would be enough. "Goodbye, Cuddy," he said. "Find someone better than Lucas and be happy. You deserve it." He turned away and once again started for the door off the roof.

She was still incapable of speech, but at least her legs answered the emergency call to action. Once again, she literally sprinted around him, throwing herself across the door, bodily blocking the exit. House stopped, looking annoyed. "What is it now? There's nothing left between us. You've said that all year, and I've finally listened."

Cuddy took a deep breath and pried her lips apart. Her heart was a chunk of ice in her chest, threatening to fracture with each painful heartbeat. "Don't go," she pleaded. _"Please, _House. Give me a chance to explain. I need you here."

He shook his head. "You've had a stressful afternoon, discovering the truth about Lucas. You're just shell-shocked, and you're reacting out of that. You don't need me, Cuddy. You'll get along just fine without me. You've probably been wishing all along for the chance lately."

She refused to yield ground, and after a minute, he retreated with a look of exasperation, not trying to physically push past her into the stairwell. "Okay," he said, glancing at his watch. "Make whatever speech you need to. It's getting cold up here, and I'd like to get inside before the late news." Once again, he turned around and retreated to the wall.

Cuddy followed him, trying to think through strategies. Wilson's words replayed in her mind. _You just need to finally be fully honest with yourself - and with him._

She leaned on the wall next to him, looking at him. He looked impatient, his face closed against her, his gaze out on the city. "Last spring when you went to Mayfield," she started, "that day scared me like nothing else in my life."

A trace of his usual snark cut across her speech. "You think it scared _you_? I wasn't enjoying it much, either." His hands trembled slightly on the wall as he remembered totally losing his mind, the one part of himself he had still counted as uncrippled. He shivered, hearing Amber's mocking taunts again.

Cuddy gave herself a mental smack. Okay, not the greatest opening. Take two. "I wasn't trying to compare, House. I can't even imagine the hell that was for you. I know my feelings weren't anything close to that." She reached out to touch his wrist, trying to get his eyes to focus again. He looked halfway lost in memories himself, and not the pleasant, helpful ones that would remind him of their lifelong connection. He jumped slightly at her touch, but he looked over at her, almost gratefully. Any company, even company he thought was indifferent to him, would be better than memories of his delusions. "House, when I took you to Wilson, it wasn't because I didn't care or was still mad at you. It wasn't because I'd rather go to the wedding. It wasn't because I had other plans for the day and was annoyed that you'd interfered with them." She had his full attention for the moment at least, and she saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. Those possibilities had occurred to him. She'd been afraid they had. "I was two steps from falling apart myself just out of fear for you. I _knew_ I wasn't strong enough to be who you needed right then. I couldn't have supported you on that drive. I would have made it harder on you by breaking down myself. _That's_ why I didn't go." He was still looking straight at her, and she went on. "I also was torn up with guilt for not having seen what you were going through the night before. I should have. You've only been that vicious when something was truly physically wrong."

"It wasn't your fault," he insisted. "That was just the one night earlier, but the hallucinations had been going on for weeks, and believe me, I knew that. I'm a doctor, too. I thought I could deal with it. I was _trying _to deal with it." He shook his head slightly. "I was even still trying to practice, with Wilson's help. We both have a lot more to blame ourselves for than you did for cluing in one day too late."

"I've discussed that with Wilson, believe me." The corner of his mouth quirked slightly. He did believe her, at least on that. "But back to what that day did to me, it made me feel . . . like I couldn't be enough. Like if we hadn't gotten together by then, there was no chance for it. You needed more than I had to offer you." Tears were welling up in her eyes now. "You even needed better friends than I had been. I can't believe I walked out on you the night before, and that afternoon, I just _knew _that I wasn't enough to help you. So I let Wilson take over." She paused, trying to gauge how he was taking this. He looked more interested and receptive than at any point so far in this conversation. Maybe she was establishing some connection. "I know this sounds stupid, compared to what you were going through. But that's why I stayed away totally from Mayfield. I felt like you needed better friends than me. I was still terrified for you, and I was afraid of breaking down right in front of you and adding that stress onto you."

He looked away again, out over Princeton, and she gave him a minute to absorb that. "But House, I never stopped thinking about you. Not one day went by without wondering how you were." A muscle twitched slightly on the side of his face. She tried to add some humor for a second, give him a fraction of space to process. "And the hospital didn't run better without you. It was too damned boring. I wasn't the only one who said that; even some of the nurses missed you."

He smiled slightly, his old sardonic expression. "I'm sure they got over it pretty quick when I got back."

"They might have. But I didn't." He tightened up again. "Lucas started investigating the accounts while you were gone. He asked about you, of course. He seemed to be so concerned about you, talked about how you'd been friends. House, I am so sorry for breaking your confidence, and it didn't happen all at once, but it just felt so good to talk to somebody else who I thought was concerned about you."

He was back to absolute tension now. "He knew that I . . . wanted more with you. He knew that from back while Wilson was gone. He started to make a move on you then, and I got him to back off." He shook his head. "Opportunistic little weasel. He thought I was gone for good."

"In retrospect, I'm starting to see how well he played it. Slowly getting into my life, moving right in and making himself at home." She reached out to touch his arm again, wanting him to look at her. "House, I told myself over and over that he was everything I'd always said I'd been looking for. _Over and over_," she emphasized.

The point wasn't lost on him. "You had to keep telling yourself that?"

She nodded. "It was almost like a recitation every morning. I'd remind myself how lucky I was. I'd remind myself I was happy." She looked straight at him. "I should have realized that it was more like reciting a hard New Year's resolution than experiencing a feeling, than a relationship. But I thought we had no chance, and I thought he was my last opportunity."

"Why?" he asked. "No chance for us with me locked up, I can understand, but why on earth would you think you ever had to settle for _Lucas?_ There's a whole world out there beyond him."

"Face it, House. I'm obsessive, perfectionistic, administratively minded, over 40 now, _and_ a single parent. Not a stellar resume."

He still looked surprised. "Take a look in a mirror sometime. You still have the body of a woman 15 years younger, and you're intelligent, successful, and passionate about your job and your daughter. That's hardly a Walmart greeter level resume. You never had to settle for him."

The unexpected compliments touched the frozen chunk of ice in her chest, thawing it a bit, and she blinked back tears. "Thank you, House." He immediately looked away again, but she knew now that he was at least paying attention to her story. She pushed on. She would have appreciated a chance to rehearse this a few times, but it was flowing now like rapids cascading down off a mountain, turbulent but progressing. "Then you came back. And you were SO much better. I promise, House, there is NOBODY at PPTH who is around you regularly who doesn't admire the efforts you have made this last year. Even if they haven't said, everybody has noticed. But I was afraid to reveal Lucas. I honestly didn't think it would last at first, and I didn't want to hurt you. But as he stayed, and as I kept telling myself how happy I was, I knew on some level that to open up to you, I'd have to admit that Lucas _was_ someone I was settling for. I knew deep down that I wasn't happy. But admitting that would be admitting that all my life, what I'd told myself I wanted was false." She paused for a second. "Lucas was like my own delusion - NOT that I'm comparing it to yours. But you at least acknowledged yours just as you realized it really was a false reality. I didn't have that much courage. You've dealt with the last year far better and more maturely than I have, even though you've had far more to deal with."

He was looking out at the last vestiges of sunset. "Thank you," he said softly after a moment. "It's seemed like . . . nobody's noticed at times."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for shutting you out. I'm sorry for blocking our friendship. But House, it was NEVER because you didn't matter. It was because every second I was around you was a second that what I had with Lucas seemed more and more superficial. I just couldn't admit to myself how wrong I'd been. I know that's shallow of me. But House, it's been harder and harder to keep lying to myself. Even without Lucas' actions today, I think the illusion of that relationship was just about to break. That day in the car, the day the insurance company was resisting that deal and I thought I'd lost my job, you were _there._ You supported me. You have been such a good friend, and I've missed it so much. And all because my lifelong illusions and my stupid pride wouldn't let me admit how wrong I have been. It was always you who mattered when it came down to it. More than any of those dates over the years, more than Lucas. _You're _what I really wanted. I just was afraid to admit it. I am so sorry, House." She was openly crying now. "I know I don't deserve another chance, and I know I've driven you away, but don't ever tell yourself I'd do just fine without you. I believe in you more than I believe in myself at this point." Her voice broke off in sobs there, and she slumped against the wall, totally emotionally spent. But it felt good in a way, so good, whether her explanation made him stay or not, to finally and openly state the truth.

House stood stunned, dissecting the verbal flood of the past several minutes. Finally, awkwardly, he reached over and pulled her against him, rubbing soothing circles on her back. She cried forever, it seemed, but finally, the flood decreased. Even then, she stayed there, being hugged, being held, feeling the reassuring warmth of him. Another feeling finally started penetrating the warm haze. His leg was quivering slightly. She pulled away, realizing that dark had fallen now, realizing for the first time just how long he had been standing out here, even longer than she had, and her own whole legs were tired. "We ought to go inside. You need to sit down, and I could use it myself. Maybe we could continue this later over coffee?"

"Am I free to go?" His voice was serious under a veneer of humor.

She forced herself to let go of his arms, immediately missing the warmth. "Yes. I've said what I needed to." It was up to him, but her heart seemed to stop while waiting for his next words.

He looked down at her. "You know, an hour or two talking on the roof doesn't balance against nearly a year of shutting me out."

"I know," she said, her eyes falling. She wondered if her heart could even resume beating. She deserved this. She had thrown away what mattered most because of her own Lucas delusion. Lost in despair, she almost missed his next words.

"But at least it's a start." Her head snapped back up as her heart leaped back into life. He was still facing her, his tone absolutely serious. "I . . . I don't know, Cuddy. It's going to take me a while to trust that you really mean it. More proof than just a conversation. But I guess I'd never be able to gather that proof if I was clear across the country.

She hugged him again, squeezing so tightly that he flinched. "We have time, House. We've already taken 20 years. Some things are worth waiting for." She released him. "Now, we'd better find Wilson. For one, he's worried sick about you - I really had to fight him to be the one to come looking. For another, I'm sure the police are waiting in my office by now. He was calling them as I left. He's filing charges on Lucas for assault and water damage, and I'll add identity theft. They'll need to get statements from me and probably you, and then they'll go arrest him."

They were through the door at the top of the stairs now, and she suddenly saw the light of mischief flare up in his eyes, a classic House expression that she had missed so much lately. "Actually, I have a better idea."

By the time they'd made their slow and, for House, painful way down the stairs, she had to admit that he did indeed have a much better idea.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hey." Lucas answered the cell phone in his usual calm, easygoing tones, and Cuddy cringed inwardly. How was it possible to be that good at deception?

"Hi. I just wanted to say it looks like I'm going to be late home tonight. I've already called the nanny and asked her to stay late, and she said you weren't home yet."

"Just out doing a few errands. I wasn't really expecting you home for another 30 minutes at least; takes you a while to tuck your big baby in for the night, you know. Are you okay, Lisa? You sound stressed." So sympathetic, so caring in tone, the perfect edge of concern. His voice invited confidences.

She smiled, glad that her own manufactured tone had come across. Not that she wasn't stressed, and not that she hadn't had a hell of an afternoon, but Lucas was about to find out he wasn't the only one capable of misleading people. "No, really, I'm not. It's been a hell of a day here. I'm still not sure what all went on this afternoon, but I got tied up dealing with another crisis with House, and I didn't get any of the paperwork done I'd needed to. So I'll be here late finishing up, thanks to House. As usual." She shot House a look of apology. He was sitting next to Wilson on the couch in her office, massaging his leg absentmindedly with one hand, but his eyes were fully alert, and they gave her silent applause on her performance so far.

"So what did House do this time?" Perfectly casual. Not a trace of extra interest. His voice on speakerphone was totally matter-of-fact, and the two policemen sitting in the chairs exchanged looks. This lowlife was convincing.

"I'm not totally sure, actually. He flew completely off the handle. I never could work out what was going on, but he wound up just storming out. He was way over the top, even for him. He even said . . . never mind. I'm probably boring you with hospital business."

Lucas immediately, perhaps a fraction too immediately, denied it. "No, if it matters to you, it matters to me. It might even help to talk about it."

"Maybe later. I've got to dig through all this paperwork first, though. I'll probably just skip dinner and keep working through the evening."

Lucas was the perfectly concerned partner. "You know as a doctor that isn't a good idea, Lisa. Why don't I come over, since the nanny will still be with Rachel, and we can grab a quick bite. And you can tell me more about this afternoon; you could probably focus better on paperwork after you've decompressed some." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"I haven't got time to go out anywhere, Lucas. I really need to get this paperwork finished."

"You'll work better for a short break. Maybe I could bring something over; we don't have to go out."

Cuddy audibly sighed and pushed the papers back a fraction on her desk. "Well . . . actually, I'm in the mood for one of the chefs salads in the cafeteria. Maybe I could take 15 or 20 minutes and grab a quick bite with you."

"You'll feel better for it. I'll be at the hospital in about 30 minutes. Is that okay?"

"That's fine. Thank you, Lucas. You're so thoughtful." She gritted her teeth.

"Only one of my many great qualities," he said. "I'll see you in a bit. Love you."

She hated saying it, but she couldn't let him pick up on anything out of the ordinary. "Love you. Bye." She hit the button, turning the speakerphone off, and sat back in her chair.

"That lying little . . ." Wilson started, but House cut him off.

"Hook, line, and sinker. That was great, Cuddy."

Cuddy smiled at him. "I had a brief dream for a while in high school of being an actress. Maybe in the movies, on TV. Maybe I wouldn't have done half bad after all."

"I could see you on TV," House said appreciatively. "All of your assets, five nights a week." She laughed, realizing how much she had missed his innuendo.

"Now remember," the senior policeman said, "you can't actually assault him in the cafeteria. Not that I'd blame you -" the police had seen the cafeteria security tapes by now - "and I'd like to pound the creep myself, but one wrong move here, and some defense lawyer down the road will capitalize on it."

House nodded. "Much as I'd like to do otherwise, I'll keep my hands off him. We can win without that." He turned to look at Wilson next to him.

The oncologist's fists were absolutely clenched at his sides, and he was much slower to respond to that directive than House, but he reluctantly nodded. "No assault. Got it." He looked at Cuddy. "I'm sorry."

She nodded gratefully. "Thanks. It is at least easier to lose an illusion than a real relationship."

The policemen stood up. "Okay, we'd better all get into position. Everybody understand?" Nods all around. The four men left her office, House the final one out, turning back to give her a look of such supportive sympathy that she blinked back tears again.

***

Lucas oozed into her office. When had she started mentally comparing his movements to those of a snake? Smooth, oily, slithering himself into gaps between things. She forced herself to smile. "Hi. You know, now that you got me thinking about it, I am hungry after all."

"I knew you would be. You need to refuel after a tough afternoon, too." He politely held the office door open for her, and they started down to the cafeteria. "So, what happened with House?"

"It was the strangest thing. I was working, and he came up as fast as he could limp and was absolutely outraged. Going off on me for all kinds of things, and I tried to get him to quiet down and go to some private area, but he was practically foaming at the mouth. I even . . . wondered if he's losing it again. He wasn't making any sense at all." She mentally apologized to House.

"So this was in some public area?"

"The clinic. I was signing a paper at the nurse's station."

"That must have been embarrassing for you, to have such a public scene. Was it that bad?"

"It was awful." They were in line at the cafeteria now. The main rush hour at the hospital was over, but there were still some people scattered around the booths and tables, tucked in their own conversations or behind their own papers.

Lucas paid for both of their orders and took the tray with his burger and her salad. "You said he stormed out?"

"He quit, actually. Don't know if he really meant it, but I think he might have. This wasn't just standard House. He was accusing me of things, ranting at the board, and none of it made any sense at all."

Cuddy chose a booth, and they sat down. "Maybe he's wrapped up in another delusion," Lucas suggested regretfully.

"I hope not, but it sure sounded like it," Cuddy replied. She took a bite of her salad, suddenly realizing that she was in fact hungry.

"Too bad. It's awful to see such a great mind fall apart. And I know he was your friend; this must be so hard on you." He reached out to put a sympathetic hand on her arm, his concerned eyes looking right into hers. "Just remember, Lisa, any time you need to talk about it, I'm here for you."

"Actually, that's going to be difficult." House's voice from the booth directly behind Lucas actually made the PI jump. "Kind of hard to have many meaningful conversations when you're in prison. One phone call only goes so far."

Lucas' mind was scrambling at full speed behind his confused, trusting face. He turned slowly. "House! Didn't see you there. Listen, not to be pushy or anything, but when is the last time you saw your psychiatrist? Any strange sights or sounds lately? Lisa was just saying how she's worried about you, especially after this afternoon." He let his voice raise a bit, carrying to the nearest tables. "I hate to bring up your history of delusions and psychiatric problems, but we were both thinking it might be time you had another evaluation."

"It might be time for you to evaluate a lot of things," House replied, his icy blue eyes drilling into Lucas.

The policemen at the nearest tables put down their papers and pushed back their chairs. "Lucas Douglas, you are under arrest for two counts of assault, breaking and entering, vandalism, and felony-level property damage." After due consideration, Cuddy had decided to leave off identity theft unless absolutely needed for a conviction. She had no desire to reproduce that email in court or anywhere else as proof.

Lucas was absolutely stunned, unable to respond for a moment. Quickly, he tried to regain his mental balance. "What lies has he been telling now? You should know, this man has a history of acute delusions and hallucinations. I'm not sure how reliable his testimony is."

"Mine should be fairly reliable." Wilson spoke up from his seat across from House. "And the court will probably give more weight to Nolan's opinion on House's reliability than to yours."

"There's also the security tape from the cafeteria," House put in. "The police already have it, and I'm sure it will make very interesting viewing at the trial - and also by the PI licensing board, who are being sent a copy."

Lucas looked from House and the police to Cuddy. "Lisa, okay, maybe I took a prank too far, but it was all. . ."

"Don't call me Lisa, you lying sonofabitch." Cuddy stood up. "Get out of my hospital and get out of my life."

Lucas stood as the policemen approached with the cuffs. He looked frantically around, trying to find anyone who might be manipulated to be on his side, but even the police looked unsympathetic. The junior officer read the Miranda rights. Cuddy stepped around Lucas like she would avoid a pile of dog poop on the sidewalk and came up next to House. He reached out to put a hand on her arm, and Lucas' eyes widened even more.

Wilson couldn't resist. "Oh, and Lucas? House is calling off hostilities, having demonstrated his superiority."

"Don't bother wasting your one phone call on me," Cuddy put in. "I wouldn't bail you out for anything. See you in court, Lucas."

The policemen, having cuffed Lucas, turned him and starting marching him out. Lucas was looking absolutely shocked, his calm facade for once cracking. Cuddy, Wilson, and House followed them.

House was limping more than usual, still feeling the effects of several standing hours on the cold roof, and Cuddy and Wilson both noted it and forced themselves not to comment. Then, just as they reached the main hospital lobby, House suddenly tripped, the leg buckling. Wilson and Cuddy both gasped and grabbed him from either side, barely keeping him from going totally over, but the cane flew out of his hand with the force of his stumble - and flew straight into Lucas' legs 10 feet ahead of them. His handcuffed hands unable to spread to aid in balance, Lucas crashed down hard on the lobby floor of PPTH.

"Oh, I'm sorry," House said. "The leg does that sometimes, and it's been aching this afternoon." He straightened up, still supported by his friends, and looked at the two policemen, Lucas' sprawled form, and the security camera directly pointing at them and capturing it all. That hadn't been part of the general script, but he simply couldn't resist. Cuddy and Wilson had even kept him from falling himself, which he'd fully been willing to do.

One of the policemen hauled Lucas back up to his feet as the other picked up the cane and returned it to House. "No problem," he said, handing the cane over. "I'm sure Mr. Douglas understands."

Looking directly at Lucas' eyes, Wilson was positive that Mr. Douglas did.

***

_Ten months later. _. .

Lucas came slowly into the visitor's room, wondering who could possibly be coming to see him. His face was no longer as trusting, his attitude no longer calm and easygoing. Prison had been hard on Lucas, and he still had most of his term to serve. He jolted to a halt as he saw who waited on the other side of the glass.

"Hi, Lucas," Cuddy said brightly, with House a barely delayed echo. She extended her left hand, and the diamond on it caught the light and radiated back into Lucas' eyes.

"I know you're probably surprised to see us after the trial," House said, "but I really have been trying to work on my manners, and Lisa and I decided that it would be just unforgivably rude to not invite you to our wedding. Of course we realize you won't be able to come, being . . . otherwise detained, but still, like they say, it's the thought that counts."

Cuddy put an invitation with neat calligraphy on the counter between them. "The guards will get that in to you as soon as they've checked it out. The wedding is January 24th, and we'll be honeymooning in the Caribbean." House reached around her to rest a hand on the barely detectable swelling of her abdomen. "And Rachel's little brother or sister is due in July. We'll be sure to send you a birth announcement."

"Well, hate to invite and run, but we've got other important things to do today," House said. "Bye, Lucas."

"Bye, Lucas," Cuddy echoed.

Lucas sat there for several minutes staring into space, and for once, even if an audience had still been there, he could think of nothing at all to say.

THE END

****

Thanks for all the reviews on my little story. I've appreciated them.

There hopefully will still be a fourth story in the Pranks series, but it is still jammed in production. Hopefully it will work loose at some point. No idea when. But I have enjoyed doing Believe in Me.

In the House


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